


Come Home

by SuchaPrettyPoison



Series: In Every Timeline [4]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Revolutionary War, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:18:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuchaPrettyPoison/pseuds/SuchaPrettyPoison
Summary: "Oh, I can't wait to see you again.  It's only a matter of time."-Eliza, Hamilton:  The Musical





	

**Author's Note:**

> I own the Hamilton soundtrack on top of being history nerd.

Not a sound came from the old house which always had a tendency to sway and creak as though it was a breathing thing all its own. The silence was so loud that is could have woken the dead, and the dark cloak of night would have easily hidden them from the prying eyes of the living. Oliver was certain that the volume of the silence is what had roused him from his fitful slumber.

In his aging years, his nights had gotten progressively worse; in sleep his demons, which he kept cage during the light of day, had freedom to terrorize as they saw fit. They knew his every vulnerability and how to make him beg for death, but it never came. He wondered if that was his penance for the life he led, to be haunted so that he wished to be taken from this world. The moment his eyes closed they came out to play and he had long ago accepted them as a constant in his life.

However, they hadn’t clung to him as he had awoken this; clawing and tearing at him, trying to keep him in their world so that they could have their fill – though it was never enough. This night he had awoken with the demons staying firmly at bay to complete and utter stillness and silence in his home. The hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end and he fought back a shiver that had nothing to do with the temperature of the night.

Pushing himself to an upright position on the worn bedding, Oliver gave his head a curt shake before rubbing the heels of his palms into his closed eyes. All of his movements were now slow and dull, when in his youth he had been anything but. For a man such as him, he had been certain that he would die young and he had lived as such, only to not die as he had thought. Death came for everyone he loved, but not him. He’d been through six years of war, joining the Continental Army after the outbreak of the Revolutionary War, and prior to that he had been one of the minutemen who independently organized to form well-prepared militia companies self-trained in weaponry and would be ready at a minute’s notice. He should have died on the battlefield. He had been reckless and arrogant, he left everything he knew and love to fight against the British for freedom. He’d seen so much bloodshed, and had caused so much of it as well. He’d watched as life left the eyes of men and collected the dead after battles. He didn’t know if he would ever be rid of the reek of blood, sweat and death, it followed him like an unseen shadow. Even years later, he would smell the stench about him and knew he would never be clean.

“Oliver.” Wrenching his hands away from his eyes, he scanned the darkness. His heart should have been thundering in his ears, but all that was there was silence. He was alone just as he had been for years. 

The war had caused him to become a hardened man. He’d lost part of his humanity and had excepted that fact, had reveled in his demons and the black marks on his soul. During the third year of the war, he no longer recognized himself when he caught his own reflection. He was prepared to die at the Battle of Monmouth, had been more than willing to end his twenty-six years on the Earth and go into the next life. A young petite woman had made certain that that would not be the case, she made sure that he would live. His Felicity. 

His first memory of her was vivid red – she had been all but covered in blood that was not her own as she commanded him not to die and to fight for life. 

It hadn’t taken long for him to become smitten with the young nurse. She was charming, witty and spirited; Oliver thought she must have been born from the rays of the sun for she shone so bright. Her father was a surgeon and she had come to travelling around with him providing aid however she could, it was an oddity to see an unmarried beautiful woman around the camp and she garnered much attention which she made a point not to welcome. She knew her position, and was constantly on alert, never wanting to put extra thoughts into the minds of men who needed all their wits about them.

Not with him though. She made the point to see him and would seek him out for conversation, all under the rouse of tending to his wounds. He never thought that he would be so happy to be injured, but it allowed him time to get to know her without the formality of letter writing, then the day came where he was well enough to take up his post again. The desire to desert and make a new home for himself with Felicity was strong but he was a man of honor, even if his humanity was hanging by a thread, so he asked for her hand. To know that she was his would give him all he needed to go on. 

Oliver had received her father’s blessing and when he came to her, she brought him to his knees. “You come through this war and I will be yours. Keep that in your heart and mind, come home to me when this is done and make me your wife. I promise to accept your proposal then.” They shared a stolen kiss and then the war divided them, just as it had brought them together.

For three long years he wrote to her, their paths crossed a handful of time during that period, and he learned to relish in every moment they spent together. With the war complete and his contract completed he made his way to her, to truly make her his Felicity. He should have known that he was not deserving of such an angel, should have known that where he walked death followed to take those he loved. 

Her father had led him up to her room, where the curtains where drawn back so that she could enjoy the bright day of the sun while laying in bed because she lacked the strength to leave it. Their last meeting had been eight months prior, but they had kept up a steady communication and she had never hinted for a moment that she was unwell. Now, he saw her in bed, frail, the strength had fled from her and she was grasping at life. She was too young and too vibrant, to be so close to death when he had avoided it countless times. A bright smile cracked at her lips at the sight of him, just as the tears pooled in her eyes.

Oliver was by her bedside, taking her hand in his, placing delicate kisses along the near translucent skin as she spoke raspy words that were barely above a whisper, “Oliver. You’ve come home to me.” 

He didn’t trust himself to speak but placed another kiss as he nodded his head. 

“I fear that I will not be able to keep the promise I made you all those years ago. I was dreaming of the day that I would get to be your wife. But you’re alive and have come home to me, safe and alive, and I’ve gotten to see you one last time. I find that will be enough.”

She was gone within the week and the last time he had heard her voice had been two days before her being taken from this world. But he could have sworn that he’d heard her voice break the silence.

“Oliver.” Louder this time, with a clear smile in the word, he hadn’t heard his name spoken like that in nearly forty years. The way she said his name was as though he hung the moon and stars each night, and it always had cut him to the soul when she said his name with such adoration.

“Felicity?” He leapt from the bed with grace and agility that he had long since deserted him. What wouldn’t he give to hear her just once more? What wouldn’t he do to see her smile at him all full of vibrant life? A dusty old frame sat on the corner of the bedside table, with a the only portrait that had been done of her during her life. It was his most prized possession. 

“Oliver.” He spun on his heel and came face to face with Felicity. Her hair spilling about her shoulders, eyes brilliant and blue as the ocean on a clear day, and her smiling so bright that it could rival the sun. She was healthy and vibrant, every bit the woman he had loved all those years ago. Oliver fought back tears, his hand trembling as he reached out to glide his fingers across her cheek. Her skin was smooth and warm, and she pressed firming into his touch with her eyes closing as if he was reveling in the feeling. 

It was then he noticed his hand and his eyes snapped to the bed, where he saw himself in slumber.

“Come home to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I may have gotten my hands on the Hamilton soundtrack and a few songs/lines stuck with me. Plus, I may have giant pile of Revolutionary War books that I'm reading right now.
> 
> First time going a tad angsty.
> 
> It popped in my head, so I wrote it.
> 
> If you feel the need for happy with a ton of sass, please make your way over to 'She Refused to be a Swooner.'
> 
> I swear the next one shot I write will be fun. Promise!


End file.
